


Sleep Warm

by scrapbullet



Category: The Hobbit (2012)
Genre: Drabble, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-29
Updated: 2012-12-29
Packaged: 2017-11-22 20:42:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/614133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrapbullet/pseuds/scrapbullet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At first glance Bilbo had thought the halls of Erebor to be cold and desolate; lacking in any semblance of warmth. That is the very nature of stone, the hobbit reasons, to be cold and staid and unwavering, and so his eyes had lingered on other things, on dwarves and riches and scrolls, as befitting his attention.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleep Warm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [poemwithnorhyme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/poemwithnorhyme/gifts).



The rock glistens. At first glance Bilbo had thought the halls of Erebor to be cold and desolate; lacking in any semblance of warmth. That is the very nature of stone, the hobbit reasons, to be cold and staid and unwavering, and so his eyes had lingered on other things, on dwarves and riches and scrolls, as befitting his attention. 

Such things are far friendlier to a hobbit far from home, and Bilbo had enjoyed thumbing through the many treasures that Smaug had deemed unglittering and unworthy, whilst the Company rejoiced and made merry. Ale had been consumed long into the night, as the blood of the dragon dried rust-red on the ground.

But now, now Bilbo wanders, when slumber escapes him, and he finds that his first impression had been quite incorrect; there is life within the bowels of the lonely mountain. Perhaps the very walls have soaked up the gaiety of its inhabitants like a sponge, for there is a homeliness here, now, that he can feel deep within his very bones. Bag End feels much the same, and Bilbo longs for it, for home, though the ache has lessened to something quite manageable. 

They say that home is where the heart is, after all.

Footsteps; they echo, hollow, from wall to wall. Thorin hums, and his calloused hands are warm as they slip beneath the worn cotton of Bilbo's shirt, fingernails skritching back and forth, back and forth over the skin of his belly. 

"I couldn't sleep," Bilbo admits. He closes his eyes, one hand clasped tight around the ring. It pulses in time with the drum-beat in his chest, a rhythm that falters as Thorin draws him back, draws him in, away from his thoughts.

Is it Thorin that makes him feel so warm, Bilbo wonders? Is it truly?

"My burglar, my light-footed thief," Thorin says, voice low with affection. "Come back to bed. I would keep you warm this night."

The ring quietens. It settles as Bilbo allows the Dwarf King to lead him to the safety of their shared bed, where the furs are soft and promising and the chiselled stone speaks not of impersonal chill but of safety. 

Bilbo drifts into dreaming with Thorin at his back, and the ring a heavy weight in his pocket. It whispers sweet nothings to Bilbo in the darkness, but the hobbit wakes not, content.

It cares little for chill or heat or kindness.

It will not rest for long.


End file.
